Zack
One Week Later
We had played the waiting game.
But now, even I was hungry and eager for some fucking revenge against the Bandits.
We gathered at the clubhouse late on a Friday night. The guys who had old ladies had told their women to stay home, lock the doors, and not answer to anyone—not even them. Those of us who were single had made sure that we had everything in order in case we fell.
We intended to make tonight the final blow that killed Eduardo and, with it, the Bandits. We were bringing along all our prospects, giving us sixteen people in total. We fully intended to wipe the assholes off the face of the Earth.
And, almost as if they were daring us to do just that, they made it obvious where they’d be. Apparently, since Damian’s death, they had taken over his neighborhood, turning it into something resembling a Bandit stronghold. About five of the eight houses were already owned by Bandits, and some quick “negotiation” had made it clear they would have access to the rest.
Sheriff Davis couldn’t do anything about it. What was one sheriff in a small town going to do against a criminal organization like this? He still wanted to avoid calling in the big government officials, but we all understood that could change at any moment.
Brock had told Sheriff Davis to give us this shot. Sheriff Davis had more or less agreed, basically saying that he was most concerned with the citizens of Santa Maria, not what its hoodlums did. But we understood that if we failed here, the consequences extended beyond tonight.
Hence, it was why we had everyone here in one room, ready to strike.
“Here’s the deal,” Brock said. “We should not expect this to be a hit-and-run. This is not going to be like when we killed Derek at the office building south of here. This is not going to be like when we killed Damian in his house. This is going to be like we’re going into a military hot zone. There will be gunfire, Bandits taking cover, and probably be casualties.”
No one flinched at that. This was less of a briefing as it was a hype-up speech. The briefing had already happened the day before at our club meeting, when Connor and Mason, together, laid out how the strike would go.
Go in, use our bikes as cover, and then slowly converge onto Eduardo, killing anyone and everyone we needed to along the way. There was to be no mercy; whatever “rules of engagement” had existed before had gone out the window the second the Bandits had rigged Reapers to explode.
“It is my hope that we will not have anyone die. However, what I hope and what I have to understand can happen are two very different things.”
The most generous thing Brock had done right there was to not use the word “expect.” I suppose it was the leader in him.
“However, we win tonight, and we win this battle for good,” he said, his voice gaining strength. “The Bandits have relied on their three leaders for so long. We kill them, we show that we come for anyone. And even the most extremist of Bandits will fall tonight, anyway, for they will be the ones to step up.”
Maybe. I could hope. I just worried this wasn’t the end by any stretch.
“This is something we cannot lose,” Brock said. “We have all been personally affected in one way or another by the Bandits. And I don’t just mean the people in this room. I mean everyone in the town of Santa Maria. I mean everyone who knows someone in Santa Maria. They are a cancer that needs to be dealt with and eliminated as quickly as possible.”
He took turns looking everyone in the eye. He was damn good at this, that was for sure.
“Some of you, I have known as far back as I can remember,” he said. “Others of you, I have only met in the last six months. But for all of you here tonight, whether you are my Vice President or a prospect of just a couple of months, know this. You are a Black Reaper. You are a part of this club. And you will emerge victorious tonight!”
The room burst out into a roar of anticipated triumph. I applauded, but I did my best to avoid getting swept up in the moment. If the Bandits had rigged a bomb in Reapers, they had moved well past the stage where they were just robbing gas stations or starting fistfights in bars. They were at a level that could not be overcome just by mere speeches.
But if this was what propelled the men forward, I was all for it.
We all went out, hopped on our bikes, and rode out to the neighborhood. Brock, Steele, and Mason took the front; Connor, Garrett, and I rode right behind; and then the nine prospects flanked from the rear. The bike steeled whatever nerves I had and kept me relatively calm; it was hard to let yourself get nervous on a chopper when you knew falling off would be the end of you.
We passed downtown Santa Maria, with a few pedestrians noticing us and hurrying for their cars. By now, I honestly wondered why anyone remained in this town. Yes, it was a place people stayed because they had no other place to go or wanted some anonymity, but there was a difference between that and not wanting to live. I suppose they held out hope that we would emerge victorious—or at least that one side would win and just stop the violence.
We passed Sheriff Davis on the edge of downtown. He did not stop us, in fact going the other way. I had to imagine he was prepping the rest of the town for violence and telling them to head indoors.
Having made this drive before, I knew when we were less than a minute out. I thought of Cole, still in a coma in a hospital. I thought about his wife and his son, the latter who was starting to say his first words but not yet making full sentences. Thinking about them, I became more determined to make sure he grew up with his father not looking over his shoulder.
The Bandits fucking stopped here. And if need be, so would King and whoever else was funding this whole shitshow.
Brock signaled to prepare to turn right. I felt my hands tighten around the handlebars. I had a machine gun slung over my back, ready to lay waste to anyone that came forward. We turned.
And then Brock peeled hard to the side as if trying to dodge something. I followed him, but the prospect behind me did not, and seconds later, a fucking grenade exploded, setting his bike on fire and killing the prospect instantly.
“Take cover!” Brock roared.
